


Real or not real?

by little_fella (na_shao)



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dissociation, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-14 23:58:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14147454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/na_shao/pseuds/little_fella
Summary: “Let’s do something,” Theseus says, and licks his lips, pressing them together before speaking up again. “Ask me things, things only the real Theseus Scamander can know.”





	Real or not real?

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the marvellous project that the Fantastic Beasts calendar is. <3

“Get away from me,” Percival groans, trying to get up, but the baked clay under his legs is unforgiving, trapping him and keeping him in place, the only sensation he is able to feel now being pins and needles all over the lower part of his body.

Theseus keeps moving toward him just as his friend looks up at his full height towering over him, and there’s menace in there; menace and fear and a deep sense of getting ready for whatever is coming for him.

“Perce, fuck’s sake, let me help you—”

“Get. _Away_.”

Biting. A caged animal bathing in his own blood. Theseus can even imagine him making choking sounds in the back of his throat as torture went on, stabbed a thousand times over for days on end.

Of course he’s feral.

“Percival, it’s just me, just—”

The black cloud of dark matter that threatens to reopen in his wounds hangs right there, right above his head. “Just _who_? Who exactly?”

_”Welcome home, Percival. You’re never going to see daylight again,” Grindelwald had told him so many months ago._

Theseus arches an eyebrow in confusion.

“Just— _me_ , Theseus—”

“Don’t even try to get closer,” Percival spits and keeps his face angled away so as not to look at who he believes to be his abuser. “I know your little game, it’s _you_ , isn’t it? It’s _you!_ ”

_You._

It dawns on Theseus, at that moment, that Percival is dissociating entirely and is still trapped inside his nightmare, his hallucination—

The memory eating him alive.

Trauma showing up. Another situation he’s already seen before.

“I’m not Grindelwald,” Theseus murmurs quietly. “It’s over, Perce. He’s gone.”

His pulse jumps in surprise for a few beats when Percival’s voice breaks through the silence.

“You’re lying.”

Theseus slowly stops moving, crouches to the floor before sitting down on the cold tile of the bathroom.

“I know you’re scared, but—”

“ _You don’t know anything!_ ”

It aches something fierce in Theseus’ body as the words are thrown at him. _Maybe you're right. Maybe I don’t know anything anymore,_ he thinks. _Maybe I just know that I love you and never got to tell you how I feel. And now… now— this is what we have come to._

“Let’s do something,” Theseus says, and licks his lips, pressing them together before speaking up again. “Ask me things, things only the real Theseus Scamander can know.”

Percival stares at him and Theseus wonders if anything will come out of this, if the other man will ever remember, will ever stop dissociating, because Percival’s reality now is all that is fake and evil in this world; because he is drifting away by each and every second and nothing can stop that.

Theseus nods tiredly to himself. "Alright, that was a bad idea—"

“You hit on me straight away the first time we met each other. Real or not real?”

Percival’s voice so rough Theseus barely manages to recognise it; and there’s hope blooming in his stomach. His heart picks up a little in his chest; he will not falter. Will keep going, and if not for himself, for Percival’s sake, so the hollow in his chest won’t end up overtaking him.

He chuckles and blinks to clear his vision.

_“You look terrible. I mean, you look handsome, dear, but also awfully sick. Caught a cold in the sweet trenches?”_

“Real. I told you you looked handsome but also very sick. But you were handsome _first and foremost._ ”

For a second, Theseus thinks he sees a spark of recognition in Percival’s eyes, which forces hope to blossom again in the pit of his stomach; however, the look is gone before he can decipher it, and thus Theseus can't stand looking at him anymore.

Still, he can feel Percival searching his face, searching for something, and somehow this is worse, so much worse. Much like a sharp stab.

And so Theseus carries on; he must not let the feeling go.

“You had a coughing fit the first time you blew me because you were too proud to say my cock was gigantic for your mouth. Real or not real?”

Percival grimaces a little, tilts his chin down into the curve of his own neck. “Real,” and his eyes cloud over, something the British Auror didn’t expect. “Hopefully you’re not Grindelwald, because I’d rather die than have him know this. And I’m going to die anyway.”

Theseus can't resist the urge to grin before it turns sour and sad, weighed down by the words and the meaning they carry beyond their hills. “You’re not going to die. I’m here.”

“Well, unless you’re the real Theseus, I _am_ going to die,” the other man answers darkly. There’s a sad chirp to his voice that punches the redhead right in the guts, even more when he notices the constellation of purple bruises that spreads evenly along Percival’s body.

There is it again, the faint crimson fire in his eyes, the melancholia and hurt.

It causes a shiver of anger to jerk up Theseus’ spine. There’s nothing to stop time from running all the way down to empty spaces and negative numbers except if he rolls the dice quickly enough.

Percival needs him, and _fast,_ of this he is certain.

“You have never told me you loved me. Real or not real?”

Oh.

Right on. Punched out of his chest.

_Oh, that fucking hurts._

Theseus shakes his head as if to rid himself of the sting of the burn spreading throughout his entire body, the intertwined web of veins and muscles and bones.

“Real. Because…” Theseus bites his lip, looks like he’s deciding whether to lie to the other man or to tell him the truth. It’s an easy choice, in the end— if he lies, it could be over for Percival. And he doesn’t want that. _Never_. “I’m a coward and thought you never wanted more than… _benefits_ , out of our friendship. Which is— which is why— _why_ I’ve never said anything.”

Silence falls between them, still, just the distant sound of the wind pushing through the cracks, outside, and water dripping from the sink nearby.

Maybe he really has lost Percival forever, now.

Until—

Until he hears it.

The sound is distant, melting into the wet air, fractured but present.

“... love me?”

Theseus feels his face drain of colour. "I— what?"

He’s on edge now, feeling exposed and raw, defensive. The truth is—

The truth is that he's been hiding his feelings for his best friend for so long that he doesn’t know how to act upon them anymore; and Percival— Percival, he’s— he’s _wrecked_ and can’t love him back, not like this.

Never like this, _never never never,_ Theseus promises himself, even if he doesn’t know when that will be.

Half truth, _whole_ truth.

Something should be found to be right in this mess, right?

“It’s…” and Percival’s hands start shaking as hard as the tears slipping from his eyes, furious rivers escaping at last. “It’s really you, Thes, _it’s really you._ ”

Theseus squeezes his arms tight around him, drawing Percival closer to him, who sags in Theseus’ hold, letting him support his weight; a way of saying _I trust you, I love you, help me._

Theseus loves him so much it hurts; breathes him in as their foreheads rest together. Percival eventually relaxes in his arms, storm passed, leaning on him trustingly where tears have formed wet puddles on the fabric, where fears and lies have melted away all at once to reveal what was meant to be seen all along.

“It’s really me, Perce,” Theseus says in a voice so weak he wonders how it made it through. “It’s really me and I love you. _I love you so much_ and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry it took me this long to find you and to tell you—”

Percival finds himself to be a guiding light. Broken, beaten, misshaped, but a light nonetheless despite all the darkness surrounding him; the British Auror cannot believe his luck, and neither can the real Director of MACUSA.

“But you found me,” Percival half sobs, the level tone of his voice making Theseus shiver for all that it displays. “And you love me. You love me, real or not real?”

“Real,” and Theseus runs his fingers gently down the side of Percival’s face, until he finds Percival’s lips with his own, slow, warm and desperate.

**Author's Note:**

> Come scream at me on tumblr: angryzilla.tumblr.com


End file.
